


Man Of Power

by tiger_in_the_flightdeck



Series: Tiger's Tumblr Ficlets [21]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Blow Jobs, Johncroft, M/M, Pre-Series, dark!john, top!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 10:53:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_in_the_flightdeck/pseuds/tiger_in_the_flightdeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Done this before, I take it? Went to your knees for anyone with power, didn’t you?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man Of Power

John politely sipped his tea, as he pretended to give a fuck what the government official was saying to him. Something about his injury, his request for reinstatement being denied. This was their third such meeting, and it always went the same.

Then, the bastard went and made the mistake.

“Really, Dr Watson, it is in your best interest to stop pursuing this.” Mycroft poured himself a second cup of tea. “After all, you’re not the man you once were.” He took as sip and strolled around his desk

John set his cup down. Gently, it was Spode, after all. He folded his hands in his lap, and asked, “What does that mean?” His voice was low. Soft. Anyone who knew him well would be nervously eyeing the exits when he brought that voice out.

Mycroft Holmes did not know him well.

“Only that you are not as young as you once were. Not as fit. There are plenty of postings here in Britain that we can assign you to. No need to go haring off back to the desert to be shot at.”

John pursed his lips, and lifted his chin. “Have much experience with soldiers, Mr Holmes? Talking with them, I mean. Interacting, conversing? How about wounded ones?” He stood from his chair, his hands clasped behind his back. “I’ve lead men on rescue missions, covert attacks, and humanitarian runs. I’ve had men- boys- die under my hands.” He took a step forward, seeming to loom over Mycroft, despite the almost eight inches between them in height. “I was shot, while running to protect a man I barely knew. I almost died on that field.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Don’t you  _dare_  look down on me because I was wounded, you glorified office clerk.”

Mycroft’s tongue moved wetly for a moment, but no words came out, while his eyes were trained on the thin, stern lips of John’s mouth. The hard line of his jaw. Finally, he managed to stammer out something.

“I beg your pardon?” John snapped. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I said that I was sorry. I spoke without thinking. It won’t happen again.” He cleared his throat, and backed up until his thighs hit the edge of his desk. His freckles stood out in sharp relief as the blood drained from his face. And raced rather rapidly south, he noticed.

John rolled his head and shoulders. “Make it up to me.” He murmured. A small smirk played at the corner of his mouth, seeing the other man lose his composure. “I can see that you want to.” His eyes ticked down the front of Mycroft’s slacks, already beginning to tent out in front.

“I… Dr Watson…” He cleared his throat once more and stepped forward. “If you insist.” Fluidly, he went to his knees, and grabbed John by the hips. He turned him, so he was resting on the edge of the desk.

John looked down, running his fingers through dark ginger hair. He made no move to help. Instead, he was content to watch as the man knelt on the carpet in a 900£ suit, undoing the fly of John’s 15£ pair of jeans. “Do a good job, and I won’t let anyone know.” He chuckled. “It’ll be our little secret.” His head fell back, and he gasped aloud when Mycroft took him in his mouth. “Done this before, I take it? Went to your knees for anyone with power, didn’t you?”

Mycroft moaned, and it sent pulsing tremors through John’s cock. With a hand on either side of the man’s head, John guiding him the way he wanted it.

It was sloppy. Mycroft had spittle running down the corners of his mouth, and his eyes were clenched shut. He didn’t bother using his hands, just sucked, and let John thrust into him. Occasionally he was able to pull off long enough to suck in a lungful of air before the swollen, leaking head probed at his lips again.

“Fuck… here it comes…” John pulled Mycroft back by the hair, and took himself in hand. A few quick jerks and he was spurting out. He splashed across Mycroft’s lips and chin. A thick streak stained a waistcoat that cost more than the soldier’s monthly pension cheque gave him.

Letting out a satisfied groan, John tucked himself- still half hard, and sticky- back into his jeans, zipping up with care. He ran his fingers once more through the other man’s now rumpled hair, and straightened back up. “You’ll take a look again, at my request?” He asked, smoothing out his shirt.

Nodding, Mycroft stood, knees shaking slightly. “Ye-es, I will most assuredly do that.  _Captain Watson.”_

John smirked, came to attention, and walked toward the door. “Good afternoon Mycroft. I look forward to our next visit.”


End file.
